


All I Wanted Was Something Beautiful

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger, Angst, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Bittersweet Ending, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Extremis (Marvel), Hate Sex, M/M, New Avengers Vol. 3 (2013), Superior Iron Man Vol 1. (2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Tony begins using Extremis to give each of his nightly conquests Steve's face. Then, of course, Steve finds out.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Other(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 185
Collections: You Gave Me A Stocking 2019





	All I Wanted Was Something Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiyaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/gifts).



> Hi, Kiyaar! I heard you liked SIM and general misery!
> 
> I'm never really sure how to warn for Superior Iron Man, so I figure CNTW + Consent Issues should cover it. It's not non-con, but, well... it is Superior Iron Man. For people who are are unfamiliar with the comics, this version of Tony is really, really not a nice person. More warnings are available in the endnotes about the consent issues, should you desire them.
> 
> Thanks to Blossom, isozyme, and hopelesse for looking this over.

In hindsight, Tony supposes he should have known what would happen when he started the game.

It was most definitely a game. Games please Tony, and Tony does things now because he wants to do them. He wants to design a new surface-to-air missile and sit in a room of desperate, begging plutocrats who would do anything to get their hands on the plans, and know that he holds their happiness in his hands -- so that's what he does. He wants a drink, two drinks, half a dozen drinks, and he gets them. He gets everything he wants.

And then there's the fucking.

Sex was always something of a game for him, before the inversion, a game that the wealthy industrialist Tony Stark had to play, and he had to pretend to like it. How many people he could charm at a party. Who he could flirt with. How many phone numbers he could collect. He hardly slept with most of them, and he never slept with who he wanted most. It was a terrible game, really. It wasn't any fun.

He's making it a better game now. A superior game. It's who he is now. It's what he does.

It's laughably easy to find someone to be with him for the night. Multiple someones. All he has to do is hold out his hand, and the beautiful people of San Francisco flock to him, stay in his penthouse, fuck orgiastically across all available surfaces. One morning Tony wakes up with eight people in the room and no memory of how many of them he was actually with.

This part of the game, he realizes, is too easy.

He still doesn't have who he wants.

But he's a genius. He can fix that.

* * *

"I could just blow you," the man offers. Tony doesn't remember his name, but it's not important. He knows what it will be in five minutes. The uncapped Extremis needle rests against the inside of the man's forearm.

The man's not reluctant, exactly, but Tony is impatient. He's been waiting for this his entire life. He doesn't like waiting for anything anymore.

"You could," Tony says, "but wouldn't it be ever so much more fun to play a game?" He offers the man his best smile, smooth like silk. Now it's getting good. "You told me you always wanted to be Captain America. Now you can. Just for the night. I'll make it worth your while."

It's not _quite_ true, of course -- the man's build won't be quite right, because Tony's not stupid enough to give any of his flock of Extremis addicts super-strength, so he won't have Steve's muscles, but the guy is built nicely enough that Tony can pretend, and besides, he's already blond. Extremis can resculpt a face in minutes. Extremis can make someone beautiful.

Extremis can make this man _his_ \-- or close enough that it doesn't much matter, anyway.

The man smiles -- only a little shakily -- and pushes the plunger in.

He takes a breath. They stare at each other. It won't be long now.

"Hello, Steve," Tony says, holding his hand out, and he leads the man to his bedroom.

* * *

The night is lovely, and the man is very grateful in the morning as Tony archly dismisses him, even as Tony is already calculating improvements in his head over his morning mimosa. The man's cock in him was divine, and he fucked him like he meant it, like Tony had told him to, but there's still so much to do. The voice wasn't right. He should have fixed the voice too.

* * *

Steves Two and Three are better -- and Steve Three is an amazing cocksucker -- and by Steve Four, Tony has mastered the exact shade of Steve's ice-blue eyes and the wheaten-gold hair that the real Steve no longer has. Steve Five kisses him afterwards as he leaves the penthouse, Extremis already beginning to melt from him as he turns away, but for the half-second before that, his smile is exactly right.

Isn't this perfection? Isn't this happiness?

* * *

He's halfway through modeling the design for Steve Six when a ninety-five-year-old man in a SHIELD uniform stomps into his penthouse.

"I don't recall inviting you," he says, without looking up from his laptop, between sips of his scotch. He doesn't actually need the laptop, of course; now that he has Extremis back, he's perfectly capable of modeling it all in his head, but he likes having something to look at. It gives him a way to ignore people.

"You didn't." It's an old man's voice now, vocal cords stiffened and hardened with age; it's not what Tony has been trying to simulate. "But given everything I don't recall agreeing to let you and your Illuminati do to my goddamn mind, I don't see why a little breaking-and-entering should bother you."

His voice shakes with anger. He's-- he's still furious.

Tony hasn't put that into the models, either.

Now, he supposes, is the last round of the game. He lifts his head. He gives him the smile he gives everyone else, the one that's the mask and he knows it. "It doesn't bother me."

And Steve -- old, bitter, broken, _beautiful_ Steve -- takes one look at Tony's Extremis-blue eyes, one look at what Tony's done to himself, and he steps back, frightened and repulsed.

Tony's surprised by how much this hurts him.

Everyone wants him now, after all. His attention, in some form. They all hunger for it. And Steve-- Steve never used to look at him like that.

(Unless he did the first time Tony had Extremis. Tony wouldn't know.)

"So," Tony says, pleasantly, smiling. "What's this about?"

Steve has a hell of a lot of gear on him. Tony can see at least three guns, and he's betting those belt pouches aren't full of lollipops for children. If Steve wanted to hurt him -- well, Steve could certainly try. It would ruin the architecture.

Steve scowls. "Don't be stupid. SHIELD has eyes on everything you do. You don't think I know that you spent the past five nights swanning around with my identical twin?"

Ah, the fun part. It's getting personal. Tony smiles more sweetly now. "Actually, they were all different people," Tony tells him. "Extremis is wonderful, isn't it?"

He watches Steve blink a few times and then realizes -- Steve didn't know that. Steve thought he'd only done it one time, to one man. As if that could have satisfied him.

Steve's going to rage at him now. Steve's going to reach for a gun. Steve's going to--

\--unbuckle his equipment harness?

Tony doesn't understand what's going on. He _hates_ this feeling. He was supposed to be winning.

Steve's guns hit the floor, followed by Steve's belt, and then his gloves. He's working at the fastening of his uniform shirt and that's when Tony decides he has to know.

"What the hell are you doing, Steve?"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing, Tony?" Steve growls, his eyes flashing. He lets his uniform shirt drop on the floor, then the undershirt. Tony can see the bones of his ribcage. He's still wearing SHIELD-issue trousers and boots. "I'm giving you exactly what you fucking want. If you're going to do this, it's going to be with me, not with some poor suckers you conned into being your very own genetically-modified monsters with my face." He holds his arms wide. "So here I am. The real thing."

Tony just stares, dumbfounded.

He'd planned for a lot of contingencies. This hadn't been one of them.

"If I'm not pretty enough anymore," Steve spits out, and his voice is still shaking with rage, "I hear you have a fix for that."

"It doesn't matter," Tony blurts out, too drunk and too stupidly weak for Steve not to tell him the truth. He always tells Steve the truth. It's a problem. "It's you."

There's another pause then, as they stare at each other. Steve is still holding his arms out to the side. Crucified.

"But you _hate_ me," Tony says, wonderingly. "You hate what I did to you. You still hate me, even now. If you thought you had a chance of getting away with it -- and you must know you don't, because you didn't try it -- you'd have tried to get SHIELD to bring me in. You want revenge."

Steve half-smiles and drops his arms. "Yeah. But I also love you. I can't make myself stop loving you. And if this is the only chance I ever get before the goddamn world ends, I'm taking it."

Well. Shit. Tony can't think of a single thing to say. He can't think of a single thing to think. Steve's won. Steve's already won, and he hasn't even touched him.

Tony sets his glass of scotch to one side and stands up. His robe, which had previously felt luxuriously decadent, now feels like far too little.

Steve walks across the room. Combat boots echo on marble. And then Steve's hand, Steve's shaking hand, dark with age spots, is on the tie of Tony's robe.

"I'd say you should tell me if I go too far," Steve says, cruel and kind both somehow in the same sentence, "but you don't actually have any limits anymore, do you?"

Tony remembers having fears. He remembers, a few times, telling his partners that he didn't want that blindfold or that gag, that he wasn't up for it tonight. He remembers Steve's unconscious body on the floor of the Necropolis, ten seconds after he'd ruined Steve forever.

He doesn't bother answering.

* * *

Steve kisses him hard enough to draw blood, yanks him into bed, and from then on doesn't let Tony touch him. He's still half-dressed.

Tony supposes he deserves this.

"I'm ninety-five years old," Steve says. "You wanted anything up my ass, you should have fucking asked sooner. Also I hope you don't think I'm physically capable of getting hard."

"Then what the hell are you getting out of this?"

Tony's flat on his back, his robe pulled open. Steve is viciously pinching one of his nipples, and Tony's enough of a masochist -- and, hell, it's _Steve_ \-- that his cock is already achingly hard. Steve makes a show of ignoring it. He hasn't looked down.

"You," Steve says, like it's obvious.

Something clicks inside Tony's head. "Oh, you stupid fucking idiot. You're _jealous_. That's why you're here."

Steve kisses him again, more angrily, to try to shut him up this time. But Tony's on firmer ground now. He knows how to play this. He lets Steve kiss all the way down Tony's perfect, sculpted chest. He wonders if Steve feels like the inadequate one now. He pushes away all his own foggy memories, the years of comparing himself to the perfection of Captain America and coming up short.

He's superior now.

He lets Steve nuzzle the base of his perfect cock, lick his way up the shaft, delicately take the head of his cock into his mouth. Steve clearly has some experience with this. Tony doesn't ask who, or how, or why. He doesn't look down. He doesn't want to see Steve watching him. He doesn't want to know if Steve looks happy, or angry, or caring.

Tony keeps his mouth shut.

Steve uses every trick he's got, and he clearly knows a lot of tricks. He has two spit-slick fingers rubbing over Tony's hole, and Tony feels his balls draw up, his own release impending. At the same time Steve takes him deeper, like he thinks he's going to be allowed to have Tony come in his mouth. Like they're lovers.

"Stop," Tony says, and Steve is still a good man, so Steve stops immediately, lifting his mouth off Tony's cock, pulling his hand away from Tony's ass.

Tony is not a good man.

With one hand he locks his fingers in Steve's thinning hair and holds his head in place; with his other hand, he jerks himself off, harsh and rough, coming with a grunt, shooting all over Steve's face as the rush of satisfaction washes over him. Steve barely has time to close his eyes. Tony has excellent aim, and Steve is very, very messy.

Come drips down Steve's face, drips onto his chin, onto his chest. Steve doesn't even wipe it off.

"There," Tony croons. "I hope you're happy. I hope it was everything you dreamed of."

Steve opens one eye. He's still glaring. "You gonna take a picture or just gloat about your own dick?"

Smiling, Tony taps the side of his head. "Extremis, remember? But I can print a picture out if you'd like one. Five by seven, eight by ten, just let me know. Maybe one of your friends wants one."

The vague threat doesn't even leave an impression. It's possible that none of their friends would be surprised by this.

Steve wipes his face off on Tony's robe, stands up, and walks over to the end of the room where he left the rest of his uniform.

Tony realizes Steve is leaving now. 

He realizes he doesn't want Steve to go.

He watches Steve put on his uniform. There's nothing he can say.

"I still love you," Steve says, and his voice is shaking. "But if the world burns, you're going with it."

"It's sweet," Tony says, "that you honestly think you're going to let me die alone."

Steve looks evenly back at him. "I didn't say that."

That's when Tony realizes exactly how much, despite everything, Steve still loves him. He shuts his eyes in misery. He needs another drink.

_You're a suicidal idiot_ , he's going to say, but when he opens his eyes, Steve is already gone.

This has been a learning experience.

Steve Six, he decides, isn't going to be able to talk at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: Tony makes a lot of dubiously-consensual choices in his sexual relationships. He's not sober; probably no one he's sleeping with is either. He also exchanges sex for Extremis in a way that I would label dubcon, with partners whom he essentially charms/manipulates/extorts into bed with promises of more Extremis. I mean, y'know, it's Superior Tony; canonically he's already extorting the people of San Francisco for Extremis, but here there's a sexual element.


End file.
